"Wolf mother, where you been?
You look so worn, so thin
You're a taker, devil's maker
Let me hear you sing, hey ya hey ya"

Pale blue eyes opened to nothing, a deep blackness pressing around him like a second pelt. He waited, perfectly still, and let his eyes adjust. Soon enough, the black faded to grey and blurry shapes loomed out of the dark. He stifled a yawn, realizing with a sinking feeling that he was alone. He hated being alone. It wasn't anything new, however. His mother had a habit of disappearing, sometimes for days at a time, before staggering home, drunk on moonshine, with the scent of strange toms clinging to her stormy grey fur. She had been here last night, he remembered. Probably left as soon as he fell asleep, snuggled into her side. He felt no anger, just... weariness. What Stormstrike did in her free time didn't concern him, but when she wasn't here when he needed her, which was often, he couldn't help but feel unhappy. Today was one of those days. He rose to his paws, fur sticking out in clumps, and left the soft material of his nest. Dawn light filtered through a broken window in the Twoleg den, reflecting on shards of glass. He jumped off of the plush scarlet chair, torn by claws and worn by time, and scrambled under the couch, feeling the cold springs scraping his back as he wriggled to the other side. He padded across the old, smooth wooden floor, his claws clattering loudly against them in the silence. The entrance to the den was a gaping hole in the patterned blue-and-white wall, half covered by some heavy boxes. Ignoring the rest of the den, he nudged one of the boxes out of the way and slipped outside.

The alley was cold. A brisk wind blew every few moments, sending Twoleg trash spiraling into the air like leaves. The stone ground was grey. The buildings were red, cream or grey. Some broken green glass coated the ground like sparkling stars. Everything looked the same as always.
"Hey, Wolf! Up here!"
He looked up, recognizing the voice of Pudgy. The fat ginger kittypet lived nearby, and often shared his food with Wolf. The small grey tom leaped onto an upturned trash can and then onto a low brick wall, sitting beside the older tom.
"Hey, Pudgy. How's Turnip doin'?
At the mention of his mate, Pudgy's yellow eyes crinkled with happiness.
"Oh, she's great. Threatened to claw my eyes out and use my pelt to line her nest, but she's doing well."
"Whatcha do this time?"
"Told her to move out the way, 'cus I needed something to eat."
"She gotta eat for more than one, ya know."
"She'd already eaten! But apparently expecting kits means that I don't get food no more."
"Did you see Stormstrike last night?" Wolf asked, going for casual indifference but sounding worried and heartsore instead. Pudgy frowned.
"No. She gone again?"
"Yeah."
"She said she wasn't leaving for a while, to make up for last moon."
"Yeah."
"Sucks."
"Yeah."

***

"Wolf father, at the door
You don't smile anymore
You're a drifter, shapeshifter
Let me see you run, hey ya hey ya"

He wasn't Stormstrike's only kit. There were others, somewhere. He had only met Tari and Slip, though. Tari was a bright tortoiseshell she-cat with big green eyes, whereas her brother Slip was a lanky light grey tabby with amber eyes. He looked a lot like Stormstrike, just with thin black bands marking his fur. Wolf guessed Tari looked like their father. When Wolf was born, they had been seven moons old. As he grew, Stormstrike left him in their care pretty much all the time. Sure, she fed him, but most days she was 'out', and never told anyone where she was going. Tari had been sweet and funny, and played games with Wolf. Slip mostly ignored him. Wolf didn't like Slip very much. When he was three moons old and they were ten moons, they disappeared. Stormstrike was in a bad mood for days. She was short-tempered and snapped whenever Wolf opened his mouth. He had shrunk back from her biting tone and biting claws, and left her alone. It only occurred to him two moons later that they had probably run away to escape Stormstrike, and left him to fend for himself. Up until that point, he assumed that Twolegs had taken them, or a dog had attacked, or something. He hadn't allowed himself to believe that they'd willingly left him. When Wolf was five moons old, he learnt not to trust family.

He'd met Pudgy on his first trip out of the den. The kittypet had been lazing around in a pool of sunlight when Wolf spotted him. Intruder! He remembered thinking. He had dropped into a crouch and wobbled forward, before pouncing onto Pudgy's exposed belly with a fearsome yowl. The tom had been surprised, to say the least. Looking back, it was the best thing Wolf had ever done. Now, he had someone to feed him when Stormstrike failed to turn up, and a friend to talk to when he needed to talk. Now Pudgy was going to be a father. He and Turnip, a snappy white and grey she-cat, had been mates for seasons, and only now had she fallen pregnant. Pudgy said they didn't think it was possible, that they were both too old. Despite his nonchalance, he was worried. Wolf had vowed to himself to help in any way he could, even by offering Turnip his den. The loner had declined, mainly because she wanted nothing to do with Stormstrike, and moving in with her would put them into contact. Wolf hadn't retracted his offer.

Wolf had never met his father. He'd asked Stormstrike countless times, and she'd responded in the same way every time.
"How am I supposed to remember every tom I meet? I don't know who he is, now stop bothering me."
Wolf didn't stop bothering her. Finally, when he was seven moons old, she grew tired of his pestering.
"Fine." She snapped. "You want to know about your father? He was a black tom with shredded ears. Amber eyes. Broad shoulders. Spent half his time joking and the other half drinking. Either hooked on Red or dealing it. I don't even remember his name. You happy now?"

Wolf didn't remember want happiness meant, so he just nodded. He hadn't asked about his father since.

***

"Holy light, oh, guard the night, oh keep the spirits strong
Watch it grow, child of wolf
Keep holdin' on"

Wolf was nearly ten moons old. Definitely too old to be scared of thunderstorms. Yet here he was, crouching under the couch, trembling beneath his dark grey fur like a mouse caught in a cat's gaze. A peal of thunder shook the den. Wolf flinched. Jagged lighting illuminated the pitch black sky. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to control his breathing.
Get it together, Wolf. You ain't scared, ok? It's just water and clouds and some bright flashes now and then. C'mon, Wolf.
Thunder cracked. 
Wolf cried out in fear, knocking his head on the underside of the couch.
Keep it together. It's just-
Thunder split the sky.
He whimpered.

Three sunrises after the thunderstorm, his mother returned. The scraping of boxes woke Wolf from a light nap. He was awake and alert moments later, claws unsheathed. The couch was a barrier blocking the chair where he slept (and a round wooden table) from the rest of the den. A cat had to crawl under or over it, or squeeze themselves between the couch and wall to reach the other part of the den. He heard the boxes being pushed back into place, and crept up to the couch, springing onto its back and digging his claws in to hurl himself up. He balanced on the narrow edge and saw Stormstrike clearly. She was a mess. Her fur, dark as thunderclouds, was tangled and mud-slicked. She stood there, illuminated by pale light, amber eyes dull and unfocused. Wolf sighed to himself. When her eyes were like that, he knew she had taken Red. Every cat, from the well-fed kittypets in the North to the scrawny loners here in the Backstreets, had heard of Red. The plant itself had healing properties, a long green stem with prickly leaves and small red flowers. It grew near water, and was pretty rare, but that wasn't why everyone wanted to snag some. Apparently, as Wolf had never taken any himself, when chewed, the flowers produced a euphoric effect, leaving the eater feeling 'free' and weightless. Stormstrike definitely did not look 'free'.
"Wolf!" She snapped, her voice like gravel. "Don't think I don't see you. Get down here and help me, now."
Wolf sighed internally, but dutifully leapt off of the couch to support the irritable she-cat.
"Where were you?" He asked, guiding her stumbling paws into the other room.
"Down by Cracker and Jezebel's place. Near the Two Sinners." She replied, leaving his side to climb onto a windowsill. Cracker and Jezebel were kittypets who lived by ancient stone statues in the shape of great cats, the Two Sinners, famous for its Red dealers and nasty neighbours. Their den was split into two rooms- the first had the hole in the wall they used to get in and out, a towering city of boxes, the ratty couch and rattier armchair, and the small table. This other room was Stormstrike's domain. Along the back wall was a row of wooden cupboards, painted in peeling white paint, with a smooth stone top stretching across them. There was another table, except it was longer and larger, and had broken seasons ago, and took up most of the small space. A few more boxes were scattered around the room. Stormstrike had made her nest inside one of the cupboards and now had shoved open the only intact window, a trick that Wolf still couldn't do, and let herself out onto the sun-warmed ledge that ran the length of the window.
"I'm starving!" She declared. "I hope you caught me something."
How was I supposed to know you'd be back today?
"No, I haven't caught anything." He replied, a sinking feeling in his chest.
"Well, you are a terrible hunter. Fine, then go get me something- actual prey, not that kittypet slop."
"Yes, mother."
"You're still here? The prey won't catch itself."

***

"When I run through the deep dark forest long after this begun
Where the sun would set, trees were dead and the rivers were none
And I hope for a trace to lead me back home from this place
But there was no sound, there was only me and my disgrace"

Wolf tripped over a bramble for the third time, and couldn't suppress his cry of anger. His paws were cut and bleeding, and he had a gash on his cheek from when he stumbled down a slope, and there were thorns in his fur and he hated this stupid, stupid forest and he hated Stormstrike for making him come here and he hated her and her moonshine and her Red and how she left him and the strange toms and the long nights and-
Suddenly he was falling and the ground came to meet him and he was rolling and the sky was down and the trees were everywhere and he crashed into something warm and furry with a loud 'oomph'.
"Great StarClan!"
Wolf tried to stand but couldn't, vaguely aware of voices but he couldn't process their words.
"I think I have a concussion" he thought as he drifted away.

"Hey, hey-hey, hey, hey
Hey, hey-hey, hey, hey
Hey, hey-hey, hey, hey
Hey, hey-hey, hey, ya."

Wolf opened his eyes, blinking blearily, well aware of the fuzzy aching in the back of his head. There was someone with him. A tom. Wolf was lying on something soft that he didn't recognize, and strange scents invaded his nose. Where am I? He croaked weakly, getting the attention of the other tom. He crossed into Wolf's view, a broad-shouldered cream tabby with a white chest and yellow eyes. As if sensing Wolf's questions, the tom began to speak.
"You don't need to worry, no one here will hurt you. My name is Sandfur, and I'm a Medicine Cat. You're hurt- you hit your head pretty badly."
Wolf raised his head slowly and met the stranger's eyes. "Where am I? How did I get here? Why am I here?"
The tom paused, tilting his head slightly. "You crashed into a patrol and they brought you here. You're apprentice age, by yourself, and injured. It's my job as a Medicine Cat to treat all cats regardless of where they come from, or, at least, that is what I believe. As for where you are, welcome to BirchClan."

"Wayward winds, the voice that sings of a forgotten land
See it fall, child of all
Lend a mending hand"

BirchClan?
"Can I ask for your name?" Sandfur asked, and Wolf replied quietly, mind reeling as old conversations about cats in the woods tumbled together like leaves in a wind.
"Those forest cats tried to kill me!"
"... steal kits from their mothers..."
"Think they're better than us..."
"Stole our territory- we were forest cats first!"
"Such strange names..."
"What kind of a name is Stormstrike, anyway?"
"Wolf? Are you with me?"
He startled. Sandfur was watching him worriedly, concern clear in his eyes.
"This BirchClan? Do all BirchClan cats have them funny names?"
"Funny names?" Sandfur blinked. "To city cats, then yes, I suppose so. My leader Ashstar would like to speak to you, if you don't mind."
Wolf knew he didn't really have a choice, so he just nodded.
"Great! I'll send Perchpaw to get her now." With those words, the cream tom padded out of the bramble den, tail swishing behind him.  When Wolf heard the rustling of leaves, he sat up stiffly, head throbbing, to come face-to-face with his mother's mirror image. Ashstar, for who else could it be, was slim with dark grey fur and fiery amber eyes, so much like his mother. His mother! Was Stormstrike looking for him, or was she grumbling to herself about his terrible hunting skills? Ashstar seemed shaken, like she was looking at a ghost, and Wolf knew the feeling well. He knew he looked like Stormstrike, except with small white socks and blue eyes like a cloudless day.
"Sandfur tells me your name is Wolf. What brought you to BirchClan territory?" She asked almost warily.
"I was hunting, or tryin' to, at least. My mother always says how ter'ble of a hunter I am."
"Your mother? Was she with you?"
"No. She won't come near the forest. Dunno why. Never said."
"I see."
"I'm guessing you know her."
"And what makes you say that?"
"When you saw me, you looked like you'd seen- well, like you were seein' someone else. And I look like my mother."
Ashstar gulped. The she-cat didn't seem so intimidating now, with, was that longing?, in her eyes.
"Tell me," she almost begged, "what is your mother's name?"
Wolf felt as if he was standing on top of an immense fence, staring down at the Thunderpath below.
"My mother's name is Stormstrike."
Ashstar took a step back, eyes wide and ears pinned back.
"What is she to ya? I'm guessing she was a BirchClan cat, but-"
"Stormstrike is my daughter."

"When I run through the deep dark forest long after this begun
Where the sun would set, trees were dead and the rivers were none
And I hope for a trace to lead me back home from this place
But there was no sound, there was only me and my disgrace"

"Hey, hey-hey, hey, hey
Hey, hey-hey, hey, hey
Hey, hey-hey, hey, hey
Hey, hey-hey, hey, ya."

***

Song: Wolf by First Aid Kit